


Another Miracle of Judaism

by SingARoundelay



Series: Thrice Upon a December [2]
Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Chrismukkah, Christmas, Hanukkah, M/M, Missing Scene, it's a hopeful ending even if it's a bit angsty to get there, look ma it's actually mostly a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 00:21:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13065231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingARoundelay/pseuds/SingARoundelay
Summary: December: 1980. Guilt and celebrating the holidays don't exactly go hand in hand. After Whizzer cut off all ties, Marvin hopes against hope that Whizzer goes to Rockefeller Center again this year. Two years ago, some god listening decided to grant Marvin a miracle. Maybe a second one is in the cards.—“Dad, did you hear what I said?”Marvin is on his hands and knees, rifling through boxes in the back closet of the spare room that doubles as Jason’s bedroom. This is hard enough without having Jason around — as evidenced by the fact that Marvin hasn’t heard a word Jason said for the last ten minutes.This time of year reminds Marvin ofhim. That name that’s forbidden from being spoken inside his two-bedroom apartment.





	Another Miracle of Judaism

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, my undying appreciation to @shortinsomniacs for beta-reading this for me and helping this lapsed catholic navigate the Jewish half of this fic.
> 
> Each of these do stand alone but can be read as a series (as they do refer back to each other!)

“Dad, did you hear what I said?”

Marvin is on his hands and knees, rifling through boxes in the back closet of the spare room that doubles as Jason’s bedroom. This is hard enough without having Jason around — as evidenced by the fact that Marvin hasn’t heard a word Jason said for the last ten minutes. 

This time of year reminds Marvin of _him_. That name that’s forbidden from being spoken inside his two-bedroom apartment.

He really should have moved rather than stay in the apartment that has too many memories woven into the walls and fixtures. But every time he looks through the classifieds or speaks to a realtor about finding a new abode, Marvin always pulls out at the last possible second with one bullshit excuse or another. He knows, deep down, he’ll never leave this place. Dealing with memories of Whizzer swirling around him are his penance for destroying his one shot at a decent fucking relationship.

He crawls further into the forest of too-small clothing he can’t bear to toss out (he’s going to fit into them again one day), trench coats (huh, who knew he had so many?), and a seafoam green shirt that once belonged to his ex-lover. Funny how Marvin couldn’t wait to throw Whizzer out on his ass for winning a chess game, but has issues getting rid of old clothing for sentimental reasons.

It burns that he hasn’t seen Whizzer in almost eighteen months. Nearly double the time they’d been together. (Fourteen months, he mentally argues with no one to retort _thirteen months_ back at him.)

“ _Dad._ ”

“I heard you that time,” Marvin says, his voice muffled. “Give me a minute and you can tell me whatever it is all over again.”

He hears Jason huff and the squeak of bed springs as Jason tosses himself on the mattress. Only eleven years old, and Jason already has the mannerisms of a teenager. Oh, he can’t _wait_ for the real teens to begin.

“You know. It’d probably be easier if you let me dig for the Chanukkah decorations,” he hears his son say. “Since I can actually _fit_ under there and all.”

Oh, he is _not_ fat. He can crawl under here just fine. And, well, while it may be easier for Jason to look for the box, he’s afraid of what he might find here inadvertently. 

It’s one thing for your son to know you’re gay — it’s another for him to find your illicit porn magazines and find out exactly what your dad gets off to.

Marvin doesn’t answer his son, instead crawling over shoes and ignoring how something sharp presses into his thigh. In the dim overhead light filtering through wool coats, Marvin spots Whizzer’s handwriting scribbled on the side of a box. He sucks in a shuddering breath, fighting the urge to blink back tears he tells himself are from too much dust and not because he’d hoped to banish all thoughts of Whizzer this holiday season.

_“We’re not keeping this dreck,” Marvin said, kicking the box of ornaments and hearing something fragile and glass shift to the bottom and shatter. He wasn’t sorry._

_“Yes we are,” Whizzer replied, going to his knees and to paw through the leftover Christmas trappings to find whatever had broken. “This is far from our last Christmas slash Chanukkah together. Unless, of course, you’re planning on kicking me to the curb anytime soon for some stupid and imagined sleight.”_

_Marvin rolled his eyes. “The two holidays are never gonna overlap again like that for years.”_

_“Yes, because 1981 is so far away. Three whole years, Marvin. Do you think I’ll be dead or something by then?”_

_No, of course he didn’t want Whizzer dead. Perish the thought. Rather, it’s that he didn’t want to get his hopes up that they’d still be together in three years. Not that he’d admit it. Instead he gave a noncommittal shrug and sighed like a petulant child he was._

_“At least throw out that creepy Santa you bought. That thing’s gonna give me nightmares for weeks.”_

_Instead of responding, Whizzer grabbed a marker and scribbled on the side: **Whizzer’s Christmas Decorations — I’ll fucking kill you if you throw anything out, you jackass.**_

_Marvin laughed in spite of himself when Whizzer turned the box so he could read it. “That’s not the Christmas spirit,” Marvin said. “What happened to peace on earth? Threatening my bodily harm doesn’t seem like good will toward men.”_

_Whizzer stood with a grin, looping his arms around Marvin’s waist and bringing their hips together. “You know, you’re right. How about I make it up to you, instead?”_

_“I thought you’d never ask.”_

“OH MY GOD, DAD!”

Marvin wipes hastily at his eyes, ignoring the Christmas box and grabs the first one within reach and emerges with it. 

“Took you long enough,” Jason says, jumping off the bed and tugging the box out of Marvin’s reach. He untucks the cardboard flaps and peers inside. “Dad… this isn’t the Chanukkah stuff.”

Marvin swears under his breath and — after saying a quick prayer this isn’t his stash of _Playguy_ magazines — looks at the box’s contents. Saved… sorta. Inside, there are a couple of old pairs of pants Whizzer left behind in his haste to leave as soon as Marvin shoved the suitcase at him. And, of course, their fucking chessboard, sans king. 

After Whizzer departed their lives, Jason never asked why Marvin the original board he learned to play chess on had suddenly disappeared. He seemed to accept that board was gone and loved the new marble set Marvin purchased instead. Hell, he just seemed happy his dad had taken an interest in his hobbies post-Whizzer. 

Truth was, even though Marvin couldn’t stand to look at the board that had ruined the one good thing in his life he also didn’t want to throw it away either.

“Hey, I always wondered what happened to this!” 

_Fuck._

Jason lifts the board out and starts pawing through the few clothes and knickknacks Marvin and Whizzer had bought together—presumably to find the game pieces. He pulls his gaze away before it can land on the things he kept in the vain hope maybe they could fix their fucked up relationship. Ticket stubs and that stupid stuffed elephant Whizzer won for him one summer at Coney Island.

But that was before Whizzer changed his number and moved, making it impossible to get in contact with his ex even if he thought Whizzer would talk to him again. Impossible, that is, unless Marvin went back to the original scene of the crime: The Slide.

However, Marvin couldn’t bring himself to go to the club he first met one Whizzer Brown for fear of finding the man grinding against someone else. Whoever the new flavor was that week. The sheer thought of it has jealousy bubbling up inside him. Jealousy he has no right to feel because _he_ threw him out for winning one game. Jealousy he still _will_ feel because he still loves Whizzer Brown.

Even if Whizzer Brown never loved him in return.

“Dad?” Jason asks for the thousandth time, resignation coloring the word.

Marvin sighs and ruffles his son’s hair, then takes the chess board from his hands and drops it back in the box.

“Why don’t you go looking for the decorations instead? You’re right, you should have gone looking anyway.” Marvin says, his voice soft as he retucks the box flaps. “It’s probably in the back. The one marked Chanukkah Decorations.”

“Real original.”

Marvin picks up the box with the tattered remains of his relationship and slips out of the room before he can have a complete breakdown in front of his son. If Jason notices something is wrong — and given how damn perceptive his son is he probably did catch on — he doesn’t ask his father for an explanation. He lets his father have his dignity.

***

With the box of shattered dreams now safely buried in the back of his own closet — Marvin appreciates the irony of that statement — he pads into the kitchen to attempt to start dinner. Already set out on the counter are a variety of potatoes, oil, and an onion waiting to be made into latkes. He’s going to cook dinner tonight even if it kills them both.

It just might. The last time he tried to cook linguine for them he burned water. Don’t ask. He doesn’t like to talk about it. 

Twenty minutes later, Marvin is up to his elbows in his great-great grandmother Liora’s latke recipe when he spies Jason emerging from his bedroom. There’s one box in his arms and he taps a second one forward incrementally inch by inch with his foot.

“Uuuuh, little help here?” Jason calls out.

Marvin wipes his hands on his jeans, leaving behind yellowish handprints of matzoh meal on his thighs. He takes the first box from his son and when he hears the tell-tale sound of glass ornaments bump against each other, he nearly drops the box. He doesn’t need to look inside to know it’s the one with Whizzer’s profane handwriting scrawled along the side.

“We only needed the one,” Marvin says, hating the catch he hears in his voice. 

“I know but…” Jason shifts from foot to foot. “Can’t we put his stuff up again this year? I know Christmas is a ways off and Whizzer isn’t here to take us into the city to go see the tree and the church but…” Jason trails off, seemingly unsure of himself. Maybe it’s because of the look on his dad’s face; the one that says there’s a knife in his heart that twists deeper with each successive word.

It was only two years in a row, two holiday seasons they were together. But to a nine and ten year old boy, twice was enough to constitute a tradition — even if the man who started said tradition was gone. 

Jason didn’t live here though. If they put up all the decorations, he was the one who would have to live with it for the next three weeks, day in and out until Christmas came and went.

But at the hopeful look on Jason’s face, Marvin didn’t have the heart to say no.

Hey, what was a little more guilt heaped on his shoulders?

***

It isn’t the first night of Chanukkah — rather, it’s the fourth — so Marvin goes through the motions of setting the four candles from right to left and waits for Jason to join him before he lights the _shamash_.

Jason gives him a look.

“Really, Dad?” he raises his eyebrow at the menorah in a perfect imitation of Whizzer it breaks his heart all over again. “I’ve done it the last two years because we both know you can’t remember the blessing.”

“Try again,” Marvin says, removing the _shamash_ from its place in the center. “I’ve been practicing just for you.”

_Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech haolam_  
_asher kideshanu bemitzvotav vetzivanu lehadlik ner shel Chanukkah._  
_Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech haolam_  
_she-asah nisim la’avotenu bayamim hahem bizman hazeh._

His voice is clear, the notes (mostly) correct, and though he stumbles over a couple of words, he manages to make it all the way through the blessing. When he sneaks a peak at Jason, his son is staring at him with a sense of awe.

“You… you sounded like mom,” Jason says, slipping his hand into his father’s.

Marvin takes it for the compliment it is, kissing his son on the top of the head. “Thanks, kiddo.”

They stand around the menorah after the fourth candle is lit and Marvin hears Jason singing _Maoz Tzur_ under his breath. He squeezes his son’s hand, taking up the slightly unfamiliar melody as they watch the candles burn.

He hates that Whizzer is missing from this. He hates that he doesn’t have the family he wanted around the menorah.

But he has Jason and it has to be enough.

***

When Jason leaves on Sunday, Marvin promises he will not undo a single piece of Christmas decoration nor will he add anything else to the walls and windows before Jason comes back next weekend. It’s only after he swears an oath they’ll go buy a tree as well does Jason finally leave hand-in-hand with Trina. The things he does for his son to make him happy, even if he gets the wonderful side-effect of three weeks of crushing guilt.

Maybe _he_ should have been the half-Jew. He’s about mastered the whole Catholic Guilt thing. 

When the following weekend comes and an evergreen is taking up residence in his front room, Marvin begins to dread the upcoming holiday. It doesn’t stop him, however, from promising to do the walk through St. Patrick’s cathedral then go skating at Rockefeller center. Sure, they’ll have to wait until the twenty-seventh, but Jason doesn’t care.

He wants to continue the tradition.

And, well, the way Jason’s eyes lit up when he agreed made it worth it at the time. 

But as the days click closer to December twenty-fourth, Marvin begins plotting how best to escape the city. But no matter where he goes, he cannot outrun every single one of his shitty life decisions. 

The billboards with holly and commercials with people kissing under the mistletoe turn his stomach.

January 1981 cannot come soon enough. 

Marvin is proud of himself, though. He’s made it through eleven days of a Christmas tree in the apartment without throwing it out his fifth floor window. It hasn’t been easy. Temptation seems to rise any time he looks out and sees some happy couple pass by down below.

(And he will never admit to dropping an ornament off the balcony at 3AM to hear the satisfying crunch of glass on the sidewalk below. So don’t ask.)

But when Christmas Eve rolls around, all Marvin has for company are memories laced with regrets. The past year flickers as it replays in his mind, as he watches himself break up with Whizzer again and again and again and again. The fucking chess board in the back of his closet mocks him, reminds him of what he so carelessly threw away.

His body moves on auto-pilot, going to his bedroom to retrieve the chess set. He digs through the rest of the box and sets the board up on his bed, ignoring the missing king. He slides the pieces around on the board, hearing their final argument as clearly as if it happened yesterday. His anger, Whizzer’s frustration — all culminating with his inability to be second to anyone.

It’s funny how Christmas is what’s making him re-examine the past year like this. Picking it apart, looking for the exact moment things were destroyed beyond all possible repair. He should have done this in September before Yom Kippur. But, as Whizzer always pointed out: he’s a Jew who only likes to pick and choose when religion works for him. 

Marvin knows there were no sins he could atone for with god. That time had passed years ago the first time he slept with another man. That judgment entered, he’s already faced the punishment that fits the crime. But… there was no way to seek reconciliation with Whizzer. It’s hard to reach out and fix something when a man doesn’t want to be found. 

Instead it’s a holiday that doesn’t belong to him that’s affecting him so deeply. Somewhere, in the distance, he hears church bells chime and it feels like a death knell for his soul. If he closes his eyes, he can see Whizzer sitting across from him. If he turns his head just right he can still feel a press of lips to his own as Whizzer kissed him every night before bed.

But when he opens his eyes, he’s alone.

He’s a modern day Ebenezer Scrooge, visited by the three ghosts of Christmas past all in one moment. As he stares out the window at the multi-colored lights rimming every window down his block, Marvin sees his past mistakes, his present failures, and his future loneliness in a monochrome dreamscape. He hates what his future has in store for him. He doesn’t want to be miserable any longer.

He may have changed over the past year and grown as a person, but his current surroundings don’t show much evidence of his growth. He’s alone and he doesn’t want to be.

For the first time in his life, Marvin realizes he doesn’t want or need to have it all. He doesn’t need sex or money or games. He needs his son and he needs his lover… if Whizzer can ever forgive him. Marvin would willingly spend a lifetime just to prove he’s worth a second chance.

The Jewish new year is the time he’s supposed to make things right again, but given the man he needs to find, maybe this Jew is entitled to a Christmas miracle of his own.

***

He follows the same path their odd little trio traversed these past couple of years. Marvin knows it’s stupid to even hope that Whizzer would want to retrace their steps this year as well, but Marvin has to go. He has to know for sure or he’ll spend the rest of his life wondering if he missed his one and only chance for reconciliation.

Marvin joins the crowd of tourists bustling out of the subway station. As he climbs the steps to street level, the temperature plummets. He turns his collar up against the cold marvelling at the few snowflakes that begin to fall. The city is usually too warm with its underground passages and subways for snow to actually stick (unless it’s a blizzard), but the few flakes give the night a festive air. Even if a white Christmas isn’t in the forecast, Marvin can appreciate them all the same.

It’s like some higher power approves of this.

He pauses in front of St Patrick’s, hovering near the large set of doors. He barely crosses the threshold before he turns on his heel and swims up a proverbial stream of people. Somehow it feels _wrong_ to go inside. Not because he’s a Jew but because this place was Whizzer and Jason’s sacred time together. He won’t find Whizzer here.

He darting down the steps and makes a beeline for Rockefeller Center. Tourists, however, only have two speeds around Rockefeller Center: glacial and frozen in place — two words one would never use to describe a New Yorker. As he tries to weave his way through busy crosswalks and sidewalks, he ducks away from shouted protests.

Funny how the, he assumes, Catholics are the ones telling him to go fuck himself on their second most important holy day. Not very Christian of them.

_I’ll show you good will toward men._

Marvin darts in between taxis lined up along fifth avenue, ignoring the honking horns in an attempt to outrun memories.

Elbowing his way through the crowd, Marvin manages to find what had once been their usual spot overlooking the skating rink. The flakes are falling heavier now but the skaters don’t seem to care. Maybe a white christmas is in the cards after all. The kids in the city would appreciate one — at least until the taxis and busses turn it to brown slush in a matter of hours.

As if hearing his thoughts, the piped in music at the rink changes to a new song and Bing Crosby’s voice croons, _I’m dreaming of a white Christmas. Just like the ones I used to know._ Though there are speakers are set up all over Rockefeller Center, thanks to the buildings, the words are distorted, echoing as they bounce between skyscrapers. Still, Marvin knows the song well enough from when Whizzer would sing it to him in bed as the clock ticked over from 11:59 to 12:00 on Christmas Day to sing along under his breath.

“Where the treetops glisten and children listen.”

He’s off-pitch but someone standing nearby has taken up the melody. The two sing along together in a discordant harmony until Marvin feels breath hot on his ear; lyrics sung softly in a tenor voice he only hears in his dreams.

“...sleigh bells in the snow.”

_Whizzer._

Marvin’s breath catches in his throat. He’s afraid to move, for fear of startling the other man. Does Whizzer know it’s him or is he cruising Rockefeller Center for some lonesome guy who needs a quick fuck to get through tomorrow’s holiday with in-laws they despise? 

Three years ago _he_ would have been that guy desperate to catch Whizzer’s eye for that much-needed release that only came from scratching an itch with another man.

Pushing that thought away, Marvin instead sinks into his too-familiar fantasy world. A parallel universe where he never touched that fucking suitcase. What would Other-Marvin be doing on Christmas Eve? Probably forced to work late as the only Jew in the office while his partner finishes prepping the kitchen with his son for their blended-family feast. (Because of _course_ Whizzer — with Cordelia’s help — would convince Trina and Mendel and Charlotte to celebrate a holiday that wasn’t theirs.) So he’d leave the office, knowing Whizzer would come to meet him at _their spot_ , ready to take him for a quick dinner before going home to spend time with his son. It’s almost cruel: Other-Marvin is so damn happy… that it makes him so damn mad.

“...and bright. And may all your Christmases be white.”

A gloved hand rests over his bare one as Whizzer finishes the song and Marvin finally hazards a glance to his right. One of the streetlamps illuminates Whizzer from behind, casting a halo-like effect around his hair. It’s the same haircut he’s always had, though perhaps is a bit longer since they last saw each other. Marvin aches to run his fingers through it.

But he’s still wearing that soft-as-butter leather jacket. It’s familiar, in a way — as if no time has passed. 

Like the last year didn’t exist. 

Maybe it's the snow or the fact that it’s Christmas Eve and all over the city men are proposing to their girlfriends. There’s romance in the air and Marvin can’t help but get caught up in it. It’s amazing, when you look at it: in a city with over seven million inhabitants, he’s managed to find the one man he sought. Whatever the reason, the urge cannot be stifled. Marvin raises himself up on his toes and presses his lips to Whizzer’s. He knows he shouldn’t. He knows he has no claim to those lips or any other part of Whizzer’s body.

Hell, he doesn’t even know if Whizzer has another man and a son accompanying him to this very spot — stealing a tradition that belonged to him and Jason only and giving it to a stranger. As if people were so easily interchangeable.

Whizzer’s mouth doesn’t soften under the kiss like it always used to.

“Marvin, don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Marvin says, turning away — but Whizzer’s hand still covers his own. Talk about mixed messages.

“Did you just… apologize to me?”

Marvin blinks. “I suppose I did.”

Rather than replying, Whizzer looks down at the skaters below. Marvin would give anything to know what is going through his mind. They stand there in relative silence, stuck in the hellish nomansland between strangers and long-lost friends. Marvin, for once, doesn’t know what to say.

“What exactly are you apologizing for?”

Marvin glances over, meeting Whizzer’s gaze. This is his chance. _I’m sorry for never telling you I loved you. I’m sorry for letting my pride get the better of me. I’m sorry I could never let you be you. I’m sorry I thought I needed you to act the woman in our relationship and tried to make you be something you’re not. I’m sorry for all the times I hurt you._

_I’m sorry I thought I wanted it all to be happy when all I really wanted was you. No more, no less. Just you and my son._

It’s a speech he’s practiced a thousand times in case he ever had the chance to make amends. And now, when the moment has come, his pretty words have disappeared. 

“I’m sorry I kissed you,” Marvin says lamely, wilting under Whizzer’s penetrating gaze. He’s lucky he managed that much.

“That’s it?”

_Of course that’s not it!_ His brain screams but he can’t make his mouth form the words. _I’m sorry I was too busy trying to win that I ended up the biggest loser of them all._

Beside him, Whizzer lets out a long sigh in a puff of white smoke when his breath hits the crisp air. 

“I’m surprised you even came here, considering.” 

_I was trying to find you. This seemed easier than searching through bath houses. Or clubs. Or waiting for you to find me._

“Considering what?” He asks instead, taken aback by the cold and accusatory tone in Whizzer’s voice. 

Whizzer shrugs. “The first year we came here it was like I was dragging you to your execution.”

“I enjoyed it last year,” he protests. “Especially the part where I only fell three times when we went skating.” He grins up at Whizzer, still proud of his achievement even a year later.

“You did at that,” Whizzer says, and his laugh warms Marvin to the tips of his toes. 

The awkward silence returns soon after, Marvin floundering to keep the conversation going. He’s afraid that if quiet lasts too long between them, Whizzer will give up and leave him. But with the proverbial white elephant in the room, dancing around the issue proves to be exhausting. Marvin can’t keep up and, consequently, feels Whizzer slipping away from him. 

It kills him that he still can’t fight hard enough to make Whizzer stay.

“It was good to see you, Marvin.”

No no no. That’s parting talk. He can’t let Whizzer leave before he untangles his tongue and gets his mouth to form proper words. But the silence continues to stretch longer and longer until four more carols have rung out and a new crop of skaters have taken the ice. The elephant has grown, a crushing weight on Marvin’s chest. 

As if sensing Marvin isn’t able to continue the conversation for whatever reason, Whizzer pulls his hand back. Marvin makes a desperate grab, missing by inches. His own hand hovers in midair for a moment before he shoves it into his pocket.

“Stay. Please,” Marvin croaks.

Whizzer lets out a bark of a laugh, this one cruel compared to the warmer one from only a few minutes ago. “It must be Christmas. I’ve received a please and an apology from Marvin in one night. What’s next? A declaration of love? A marriage proposal? Telling me you fucking missed me?”

He knows he deserves this, but it doesn’t make the words any easier to hear.

Another pregnant pause blossoms. Whizzer may have acquiesced to stay for the time being — but he isn’t making this easy for Marvin. They both know that any apology or platitude will sound cheap; nothing more than hollow words coming from an immature man. Marvin is well aware he’s never mastered the ability to speak openly and from the heart. Emotions are hard for him. 

Sentimentality is for the weak.

“Right.” Whizzer turns up his lapel and readjusts his scarf. “It was good to see you. I mean that.”

“Come back to my place.” Marvin clamps a hand over his mouth, wishing he could fish the words out of the air and shove them back down his throat.

If the sidewalk could open up and swallow him whole, that would be perfect right about now. He struggles to string a coherent sentence together and the first one he manages is the worst possible thing to say. 

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“I’m not.” Marvin reaches for Whizzer’s shoulder, grasping it before the man can pull away. “Come back to my place where we can talk.”

Whizzer snorts. “Yes, because we did so much talking when we were together. I’d rather not be thrown out of your apartment twice if it’s all the same to you.”

“Please,” Marvin says, surprised at how the word rolls off his tongue with ease. “Give me an hour of your time and then I’ll never bother you again. I swear.”

Whizzer draws his lips into a thin line, then turns to the guy standing a few feet away from him. Marvin’s stomach sinks. God, Whizzer _did_ come here with someone else. At least he doesn’t see a kid around. He supposes that’s a small mercy. At least the other guy didn’t punch him in the face after he kissed Whizzer. 

Marvin knows he wouldn’t have had that much restraint watching some stranger kiss Whizzer.

After what feels like a small eternity, Whizzer gives Marvin a tiny nod. “I’ll be there in an hour. There’s something I have to do first.”

_Don’t you mean someone?_

Showing incredible self-control he didn’t know he possessed, Marvin doesn’t sling any insults. He watches the two men walk away together, wondering who he is.

No. He won’t go down that rabbit hole. 

With one last glance at the tree, Marvin sends up a quiet prayer — hoping he can make things right. Two years ago, some god listening decided to grant him a miracle.

Is it too much to hope for another?

***

An hour and ten minutes later, Marvin is still sitting alone in his apartment. He glances at his watch for the thousandth time, watching the seconds turn into minutes. He’s willing to wait as long as it takes, but he can’t help but wonder if he’s about to be stood up in his own home.

He shouldn’t have invited Whizzer back here — or, at the very least they should have travelled together. That way Whizzer couldn’t change his mind. Couldn’t get distracted by someone younger and hotter.

At the almost two hour mark, Marvin realizes he must be the most naive person on the whole fucking planet.

Marvin rises from the couch, ready to admit defeat and pour himself a generous glass of scotch when there’s a knock. Marvin trips over the coffee table, curses, and opens the door all while hopping on one foot, rubbing his calf with his free hand. Oh, this is so not going at all to plan.

“This your new way of greeting ex-lovers?” Whizzer asks, imitating Marvin for two hops. “Trina must get a kick out of it.”

Marvin backs up with a tiny limp, hating how easily Whizzer can throw barbs at him. “Come in?”

“Well, I didn’t just sit on a disabled 1 train for forty-five minutes just to stand out in the hall.”

Oh. So Whizzer didn’t nearly stand him up. Trains being late is a perfectly valid excuse. A shimmer of hope blooms in his chest before he can stop it.

Whizzer steps into the apartment, arching a brow as he looks around the place. The Christmas decorations dotted around give the flavor of the holiday without looking like a North Pole explosion. It’s tasteful in a way that Whizzer never managed. 

Before Whizzer arrived, Marvin did hang up a sprig of mistletoe. 

Just in case.

Whizzer mutters something under his breath, circling the Christmas tree. He twirls an ornament between his thumb and forefinger, the glass ball refracting light across the ceiling.

“Jason asked to put everything up,” Marvin says, answering the unasked question.

Whizzer grunts in reply.

“He misses you, you know,” Marvin continues, wondering if talk of Jason could work as an icebreaker. 

Another grunt. 

Or not.

“I could’ve thrown everything out. But I didn’t. I followed your instructions.”

For a fleeting moment, Marvin thinks he sees Whizzer’s expression soften. But when the hard lines return to his face, Marvin tells himself he imagined it. The silence in the apartment stretches longer and is somehow more awkward than it was down by the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree. Whizzer clearly isn’t going to make this easy on Marvin. He can’t find any crack, no tiny weakness to exploit.

Whizzer is an impenetrable wall, impossible to tear down.

But the best things in life are always worth the work.

“Can I get you anything?”

“I’m good.”

“You sure?”

Whizzer sighs. “Marvin, don’t. Tell me why you wanted me to come here and then let me go.”

It’s an interesting choice of words: let me go rather than let me leave. But Marvin doesn’t want to let him go. Not again.

Marvin shoves his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. “I owe you an apology.”

The answering bark of laughter is so cold, it feels like the temperature in the apartment drops ten degrees.

“You owe me a hell of a lot more than that.”

“I know I do,” Marvin replies. “I’ve practiced what I wanted to say to you so many times — but now that you’re here I can’t even remember what all I wanted to say to you. The same thing happened earlier tonight. I thought it would be easier back on my own turf. I was wrong.”

“I’m surprised the word apology has entered your vocabulary in the first place.”

Marvin attempts a smile but it comes out more like a grimace. “I’ve been trying to to turn over a few new leaves.”

Whizzer looks at him then. “In that case, I don’t want your practiced speeches. None of your pretty lies and manipulations you think will work to get me to stay or come back or whatever it is you want from me.” He takes a step forward, and places his hand over Marvin’s heart. His skin crackles from the touch. “I want you to speak from here.”

Whizzer withdraws his hand, but Marvin can still feel the hot outline of his handprint like a brand. Marvin closes his eyes, knowing if he looks at Whizzer he won’t be able to get through this without stopping. Without completely breaking down.

“I have many regrets in my life,” Marvin begins, unable to keep his voice from shaking. “I could place the blame on different people but the fact is I need to start owning up to my mistakes. I love Jason beyond all words and I don’t regret having him — but there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t feel guilt over what I did to Trina.” 

Whizzer makes a noise but, to his credit, he doesn’t interrupt. Marvin draws in a breath and sinks onto the couch.

“I’ve… I’ve hurt so many people in my life. I hurt Jason by not being around enough to be a father to him like he needed. I was so unhappy in my family life that all I could think about was escaping my responsibilities to him and to Trina. And that’s when I met you and I lost all common sense. You were everything I ever wanted to be: free and open and accepting of your sexuality. Hell, even accepting of who you are as a person. I hate you for that almost as much as I love you.”

Marvin realizes this is the first time he ever admitted aloud that he loved— _loves_ — Whizzer. He feels dampness on his cheek, and he wipes away a tear before it can fall and Whizzer notices. Even speaking from the heart like Whizzer asked him to, he’s still embarrassed. It’s hard to reconcile so many years of conditioning. Showing emotion is weak and not-at-all masculine. 

“But I didn’t know _how_ to be in a relationship with someone who didn’t fit into predefined roles. I still expected you to fill the mold of wife and that’s not who you are. But… I was afraid if I let you take the lead, it’d make me less of a man. I didn’t want to be seen as the woman making you dinner and clipping the coupons.”

“Never mind that you can’t cook,” Whizzer mutters under his breath.

“I was an idiot. I wanted a tight-knit family with my wife and son and lover — but I never stopped to think what any of you wanted from me. Even after our divorce, I wanted Trina’s allegiance to be to me, no one else. I resented how you and Mendel seemed to be better fathers to Jason than I was. Just like I thought I would always be the one to come out on top in our relationship. I didn’t want to be second best.” Marvin shakes his head. “That night. It wasn’t just that I lost, it was that I lost and it felt like you mocked me in your win. Hell, you bounced the pieces around the board like checkers, not chess.” 

Marvin wipes away another tear. _Goddamnit._ This is the hard part. He clenches his hands in his lap so hard, he feels blunt nails digging into his skin. “I was annoyed you couldn’t figure out a simple game my son had mastered at six. I felt like you didn’t even try to learn before you asked to win. I snapped.” Marvin pauses again, swallowing a lump that’s formed in his throat. “I was too self-centered to see you were asking for my help. Not just with the game. But with the roles I tried to pigeonhole you into. It was never about winning or losing but just how we played the game. I’m sorry I never let you be you.” At last, Marvin finally manages to make eye contact with Whizzer. “My biggest regret? It isn’t throwing you out. It’s that my self-worth was so wrapped up in the gender roles I thought I needed. That I tried for so long to be straight and when I got it up to be with you… thought that if you were my wife, I wouldn’t be a disappointment. But I never wanted a wife — and I never should have made you act like mine.”

He’s laid his soul bare, offered up on a platter for Whizzer to do with as he sees fit. He spoke from the heart, no matter how uncomfortable it made him. Now it’s up to Whizzer to absolve him or condemn him. He’ll take whatever verdict Whizzer will pass with grace. 

He hopes.

Whizzer edges around the tree and drops to his knees in front of Marvin. He covers the other man’s hands with his own, then rests his cheek on Marvin’s knee. Marvin wrestles one hand free, letting his fingers brush through Whizzer’s hair. Marvin commits every moment of this to memory in case it’s the last time they ever speak.

“Now _that_ is an apology from the heart.”

It isn’t forgiveness, but it’s a start.

***

It’s actually the first time he’s slept beside another man without sex being involved.

To be honest, he’s glad they didn’t fuck. What he craved more than anything was to fall asleep with his head on Whizzer’s chest and let the man’s even breathing lull him to sleep.

Whizzer later admitted he wasn’t at Rockefeller Center with anyone. Just some random guy Whizzer used as a pawn, lest Marvin think it’d be easy to get him alone. Neither man wants to admit how much they missed the other.

When Marvin rolls over in the morning, Whizzer’s side of the bed is cold. There’s only the lingering scent of Whizzer’s cologne clinging to his pillow. Marvin breathes in the scent with a small smile on his face. 

He didn’t expect Whizzer to still be here in the morning. If they’re to rebuild a relationship, Marvin wants it to be a step at a time.

He wants to do it right the second time around. He knows there won’t be a third chance at happiness.

But last night, the chasm between them closed. It’s no longer an insurmountable thing. He’ll take care to ensure it never cracks wide again.

And when Marvin finds a slip of paper underneath a sprig of mistletoe with a phone number scratched into it, he accepts it for what it is.

A miracle.

**Author's Note:**

> So this wound up being a completely different fic than what it started as, but I'm really pleased with the result. I hope you all love this as much as I enjoyed writing it! As always, kudos and comments and reblogs are love -- thank you so much for taking the time to read during the busy holiday season! <3


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